


Send the Pain Below

by utopiandream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coming Out, Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2245077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/utopiandream/pseuds/utopiandream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage Dean can't stand being the only one who knows who he really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Send the Pain Below

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, guys! So this is the first Destiel fic I've ever posted for anyone else to see. I'm hoping it's okay. Please let me know any thoughts you have about it, yeah?!
> 
> The title is from a song by Chevelle that has been stuck in my head for days. ha.

1995  
As far as roadside motels went, this one was okay. Like, pretty decent. It had a continental breakfast at 7 in the lobby and a little room with a treadmill called a 'mini gym'. The decor was old fashioned but not totally hideous. And the carpet wasn't gross and dirty like the last one, so Dean was sitting on it, in front of the motel room door. Early morning sunshine was peeking through the stained glass windows on either side of the door. It made soft patterns of yellow and deep amber and pumpkin orange on his feet and shins. The comforter from his bed was currently wrapped around his shoulders. The radiator made a soft hum and normally something like that would probably irritate the fuck out of him but right now it was okay. On a whim, he snatched the little disposable camera he bought at the grocery store out of his suitcase and snapped a photo of the scene. He wasn't sure what, but something made him want to hold onto his moment and remember.  
Behind him Sam shifted in his bed a bit and then let out a long yawn, cut short when he caught sight of Dean on the floor. "Dean? What are you doing?"  
Dean turned and looked at Sam, just as calm as ever. "Nothing. Couldn't sleep."  
"All night?" Sam gave him a crazy look, like the worst thing he could imagine was missing out on a whole night's sleep.  
Dean just nodded. Sam came and sat next to him.  
"Are you okay?" Sam asked Dean. This caught Dean off guard.  
"What do you mean?"  
"I don't know. You just seem like something's wrong."  
Dean brought his knees up to his chest, the colorful reflections vanishing from his legs. What was wrong? Was there something wrong? "Nothing's wrong."  
"Okay," Sam said softly.  
Dean suddenly felt very guilty. He stopped to think it through a moment and realized it was guilt for lying. Guilt because Sam believed him. Dean suddenly got a sour, acidic feeling in his stomach, an intense feeling of nervousness and dread.  
And at that moment, he knew. It was time to tell Sam. He had to just puke it up and let Sam decide for himself how he felt. At this point, he'd be surprised if Sam didn't already know, but Dean decided it was important for Sam to hear it from him.  
"Sammy, you know I like guys, right?" Dean managed to say the words coolly and calmly but for the life of him he couldn't force himself to even glance in Sam's direction.  
Sam thought a moment, and then said, "Yeah, I sort of wondered a couple times, I guess."  
Dean nodded again. He stared at the mosaic of light cast on the carpet and ran a hand up his face and down his hair, finally gathering the courage to look over at Sam. Sam met his eyes and, after a few seconds, broke the silence. "It's fine. It doesn't really matter."  
Dean didn't know it until right now, but that was the single best way Sam could have reacted to the news. Like it was no big deal; virtually irrelevant. He didn't need any corny "I accept you"s or "You're still the same Dean to me!"s. This was perfect.  
\--  
The photo was old and bent by now. A little faded and wrinkled. But the wear and tear did nothing to lessen the feeling it gave him to look at it. It was a happy calm moment he could always find when he needed it.  
Dean sat in a hotel room, a room probably triple the size of the one in the photo. Dean liked to spoil himself with a luxurious suite sometimes, even if the ladies at the front desk always took he and Sam as lovers.  
A little spoiling was quite deserved at this time, he had decided. Cas was evidently missing again; he had made no contact with either Sam or Dean in 7 weeks and there was no news from anyone they could think to ask. Every day it was harder for Dean to shove the hurt under the bed in his mind so he could keep on going like nothing was wrong.  
Dean ran his fingers along the worn edges of the photograph, focusing on slowing his breathing; he did not have the patience to have a panic attack right now. He had to procrastinate on this whole losing-his-fucking-shit thing. Push it back one more day. All he could feel was the ravenous feeling of luscious air filling his lungs and the small square photo in his hands. If he could focus on just that and nothing else, it would be okay. And it was. It was enough, for now.


End file.
